


Donor

by berlynn_wohl



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Bodily Fluids, Creepy Hannibal, Fantasy, M/M, Medical, One-Sided Attraction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-19
Updated: 2015-02-19
Packaged: 2018-03-13 19:42:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3393944
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/berlynn_wohl/pseuds/berlynn_wohl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Susan was telling me that your motility and morphology are pretty outstanding.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Donor

_Summary: A professional man of very high standing in his field, with two doctorates_

_Ancestry: Eastern European_

_Hair: Thick blonde_

_Eye color: Brown_

_Height: 6'1”_

_Weight: 165 lbs_

_Appearance: Unique but very good-looking, swimmer's build_

_Personality: Polite, conscientious, inquisitive_

_Born: 1960's._

_I.Q.: 170_

_Hobbies: Art (culinary and drawing), music (harpsichord), athletics (swimming), reading (history, psychology, classic literature)_

_Manual dexterity: Excellent_

_Health: Excellent_

_Blood type: O-_

 

 

Hannibal bypassed the rooms marked CRYOBANK and MICROSORT; like any regular visitor, who had already completed the lengthy screening process, he headed straight for the lab. 

Two women, technicians in white coats, were seated at their workstations, discussing a film that had just won several Academy Awards. They looked up when Hannibal walked in. Melissa was fairly new, and only smiled politely, but Susan's face brightened considerably when she greeted him. “Welcome back, Doctor Fairchild!” (At this particular facility, he was known as Fairchild. At another, he was Kalvis, and so on.) 

Hannibal smiled back at her. “Susan. I hope you are well. How was Caleb's piano recital?” 

“It went wonderfully. I told him just what you said, about keeping his hands warm with those little thermal packs before he went on stage? And the performance went off without a hitch!” Susan rose from her chair – where she had been studying samples under a microscope – and opened a nearby cabinet, to retrieve a sterile cup. 

“Ah yes, and the Winslow Memorial Hall _is_ a notoriously cold venue.” Hannibal walked with Susan over to the cabinets. “Well, I’m happy to hear that. Music brought me so much joy as a child; I appreciate knowing that it continues to enrich the lives of young people.” 

Susan slid open a drawer underneath the cabinet and brought out a roll of label stickers. She tore one from the roll, peeled it, and placed it on the plastic cup before handing it over to him. Hannibal knew the routine quite well, so Susan did not bother to provide him with any instruction after that. She only jokingly advised him to “Have fun!” He raised his eyebrows and let the corner of his mouth twitch: a semblance of a smile, to acknowledge her semblance of wit. 

She returned to her microscope, and Hannibal walked around the counter and turned down the corridor, headed for the first door on the left. 

The room was barely bigger than a closet, and furnished only with a green loveseat and a sink with a cabinet underneath. Hannibal set the specimen cup on the counter, washed his hands with the antibacterial soap provided, and dried them thoroughly. 

There was a bowl on the counter next to the soap, filled with sachets of lube. He did not require them; he was uncircumcised. He also felt no need to avail himself of the “inspirational literature” to be found in the cabinet. His own imagination was sufficient, and he was always curious to see in what direction his mind would wander at these times. 

He did not even consider sitting on the worn, dingy loveseat; he would rather stand than have any contact with it. Casting a glance at the door to make sure he'd turned the deadbolt, he unbuttoned his trousers and reached in to take out his penis. Providing these services required that he visit the cryobank often, usually once a week but sometimes twice, and it was necessary to abstain for three days before each visit, which meant that a visit might be his only outlet for the week. As such, he was already half-erect by the time his trousers were undone, and he had to work a little to get himself out past all the fabric. He pressed his thumb over his foreskin, which drew back easily as his penis continued to firm up and thicken. 

Today, when he closed his eyes, he found himself thinking of Special Agent Graham. This was his first visit to the cryobank – his first release – since the incident at the Hobbs residence. That had been quite a dramatic event, and every aspect of it had given Hannibal things to think about. 

But at the moment he found himself more interested in what had happened prior to that, in that cheap motel, in the morning, with Agent Graham. Special Agent Will Graham, who had an acidic response to everything and everyone and behaved as though he were being dragged through each moment of existence against his will, but seemed to find it perfectly satisfactory to breakfast with a bare acquaintance, consuming whatever food was put in front of him. Hannibal recalled Will's face after that first bite – he had leapt from suspicious to ravenous in a matter of moments. And this after having greeted him at the door dressed in just the underclothes he'd spent the night in, which were ripe with his body odor. 

These thoughts were very effective, and Hannibal reached for the cup on the counter in anticipation. His thoughts returned to Will immediately: the little noises of surprise and pleasure he had made at the taste of Hannibal's cooking; each one had been immediately filed away in his memory palace, for use at an occasion such as this. 

Hannibal had taken a good look – brief, near instantaneous, but plenty – when Will had answered the door, and could see that while Will wasn’t _skinny_ , he was unquestionabley undernourished, hauling around a body full of ache and hunger. He clearly needed Hannibal in his life, to care for him that way. Hannibal briefly entertained the fantasy of hand-feeding Will, but no, it was much more exciting to think of Will putting the meat in his own welcoming mouth, placing it with his own hand between those soft, parted lips, dramatically framed as they were by a charming bit of dark scruff. Hannibal imagined that he could happily spend the rest of his life putting food in front of, and then into, Will Graham. 

When he felt his climax approaching, he inhaled deeply and silently several times, finally allowing himself a grunt when he began to ejaculate. It all went in the cup, without a drop going astray. 

Thoughts of Agent Graham had shaved three minutes off of the usual amount of time he spent in this room. He wondered if the technicians would notice his comparatively abrupt exit, but proceeded with the routine just the same: he secured the lid on the container and wrote “3:25,” the time of his ejaculation, on the label sticker. There was a tub of Clorox wipes on the counter. He had kept things very tidy, but he used several anyway, on the various surfaces. 

When he returned to the lab area, Melissa was there working alone. He dropped the sample into the incubator. Next to the device was a mug crowded with free souvenir pens; a segment of the barrel in each contained clear fluid and several plastic sperm, which “swam” from one end to the other when the pen was tilted. Hannibal found this amusingly vulgar. 

Melissa did not bother to look up to make sure he was following the procedure. “Susan was telling me that your motility and morphology are pretty outstanding,” she said. 

Hannibal was somewhat taken aback by her forwardness, but then again, this was her job. “I try to eat well,” was his reply. 

“Hmm,” was all Susan said, and then, as Hannibal made his exit, “Have a good afternoon.”


End file.
